


boom clap (sound of my heart)

by pure_as_the_driven_snow



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, transgirl sombra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8475445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure_as_the_driven_snow/pseuds/pure_as_the_driven_snow
Summary: “What do you want,” Hana grumbles after a moment, and the girl’s lips curl with satisfaction. 
“I like making friends, D.Va. I like making friends with big, big guns, bigger reputations, and a habit of,” her eyes flick in the direction of the explosion, “collateral damage. And you’re not bad to look at, either. Let’s just say...you owe me one. You do it, I give you the vid. You don’t…” She trails off meaningfully.
Or, Hana and Sombra come to an agreement.





	

**Author's Note:**

> kink meme fill, prompt was "orgasms during ultimates"

She doesn’t self destruct often. It’s last minute, since a new MEKA takes months of work and costs as much as she brings home every winning tournament. Hana is careful, since without her mech, she’s slippery--but fragile--target. She’s a cracking shot and what her pistol lacks in power, it makes up for in speed; it’s still not thousands of pounds of machinery and guns. 

But sometimes there’s just no helping it. Every moment of implosion is special; Hana remembers every time she’s had to resort to it. Mostly because of how it feels. Victory is a potent drug, an aphrodisiac that runs hot shivers up and down her spine.

It’s embarrassing. It’s part of the reason she doesn’t self destruct.

Tonight, they are swarming Lumerico. Talon, for some reason, is trying to protect it; or maybe they’re trying to get to it first. Hana isn’t certain, and frankly, she doesn’t care. She has little respect for either organisation; Satya has often said that Lumerico was just another facet of Vishkar, two horrible peas in a rotten pod. It’s easy to justify the collateral damage to Lumerico. Talon clusters in a swarm, hunkering down. 

Hana looks at the remaining fuel in her thrusters, at the haggard team, and aims a toothy grin to her stream. 

“B-R-B,” Hana says, and shuts off every unnecessary app she’s got. Arousal starts just with that, amplifies slow and steady as she makes sure the ejection port is ready, as she fires up the defense matrix and guides it into shooting down a wall of bullets.

The hunger starts when she backs up, then takes off. Saying the code out loud, letting the now compacting MEKA fly out into the throng of panicking enemies, ducking for cover; it’s all foreplay. 

It’s when Hana is cloistered in a hiding spot, counting down the seconds in time with her heartbeat with closed eyes, is when she lets herself feel it. Hot lust, rolling through her body. _Nerf this,_ she thinks, licking her lips as the MEKA lets out a sharp, warning whine. Hana lets her hand shoot down, grabbing between her legs and pressing firmly as the explosion rocks the world, the orgasm snapping her up just as hard and just as fast. Her wail is muffled in the roar of destruction, and she compartmentalizes the fact that people are dying, or dead. 

(She always does.) 

The smell of smoke and the sizzling tang of the explosion follows; in the aftermath, Hana breathes in dry air, bitterness on the back of her tongue, and opens her eyes. There is a girl kneeling just in front of her, lips parted and glossy with purple lipstick, dark brown skin flushed. Her eyes, blue and glossy, are wide and dark. There’s soot streaked across her face, and one sleeve of her coat is crispy black, burnt. 

But she’s grinning, teeth sharp and white. Hana sees a holoscreen hovering just in the palm of her hand.

“I didn’t know D.Va got her kicks wrecking Lumerico property,” the girl husks, her accent a purr. Hana gapes, flustered with humiliation, and glances to the screen; sees herself recorded, cheeks red and her hand still cupping herself over her suit. 

“Fuck,” is what she gasps, hands shooting for her pistol. 

“Ah, ah, _m’ija_ ” the girl clicks her tongue. “One more move and I upload this on every major network. Got it?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Hana hisses between her teeth, but she raises both hands. The recording is more dangerous than a smoking gun, really. Hana isn’t familiar with blackmail, and she’s sure she could hire a lawyer talented enough to salvage her rep if the girl with the stupid toe shoes and the luminous, gradient leggings does upload the vid, but that would stain her forever. 

No one would take her seriously if they saw her rubbing one when her MEKA exploded. She’d be a laughing stock. 

“What do you want,” Hana grumbles after a moment, and the girl’s lips curl with satisfaction. 

“I like making friends, D.Va. I like making friends with big, _big_ guns, bigger reputations, and a habit of,” her eyes flick in the direction of the explosion, “collateral damage. And you’re not bad to look at, either. Let’s just say...you owe me one. You do it, I give you the vid. You don’t…” She trails off meaningfully.

==

Sombra’s breath hits her neck, humid and hot. She sucks in a breath like a whimper, and Hana revels in it as she settles back, hips rocking as they roll together. The set up is pretty sweet, something like a gaming rig Hana has set up in her dorm at Gibraltar. Three huge screens, fans whirring as lines of code roll through. Hana faces the screen, licking her teeth. 

The favor Sombra had cashed in turned out to be a small one, in a sense. She wanted access to a MEKA, though even her deep web hacking had turned fruitless. Three was nothing automatic in the MEKA that could be used for piloting; it had to be manually done, and Sombra didn’t have the experience or the time to learn, so they jerry rigged a remote piloting system using retro joysticks, and Sombra sinking her tendrils deep into the coding, manipulating loopholes in the tech.

It turned the MEKA from Hana’s favored pink to a more vibrant purple, Sombra’s logo broadcasted over the glass. It works like a dream, though, and Hana likes the challenge of working her mech from a distance; cramped quarters in a shitty apartment, perched in Sombra’s lap. The joysticks placed on either side of the chair arms, with Sombra’s arms around her waist to fly over the hovering keyboard. The first time they’d worked together to upset a Vishkar shipment of explosives, Hana had joked about them being old school drift compatible. Sombra jokes that she fell a little in like with her from the reference alone. 

They meet up like this every two months; Sombra working as a double agent for Talon and Hana dedicated to Overwatch and service to country keep them both pretty busy with their own agendas. It’s casual; mostly friendship, sometimes way more.

The sex hadn’t been a part of the deal, but it had ended up being a thing anyway. Hana doesn’t mind it; no one at Overwatch sees her as an adult (which pisses her off to no fucking end, it honestly does, how does Junkrat of all people get to call himself an adult while she’s stuck at the kiddy table?) but Sombra is a kindred spirit. She likes pretty girls in her lap and she likes fucking up corrupt institutions of power. 

Speaking of; Hana feels Sombra hard against her ass and hums low in her throat, pulling against the throttle of the joystick to slap the bulk of her mech’s gun into three goons. She wiggles her ass, mutters, “I got this. Get the pants, scrub,” and Sombra laughs with delight. The claws at her fingertips retract and she fumbles with her leggings, Hana’s bikershorts. They don’t get very far; Hana settles back as she pops her gum, brow furrowed in concentration. Her fingers twitch when Sombra slides against her cunt--not in, just against the slick of her, lubing herself up. 

“Ay, _m’ija_ ,” Sombra growls against the shell of her ear, shaking hands reaching to her thighs. Hana lets herself purr at the firm, demanding grip on her skin. “The things you do to me.” 

“Mmhm. Can feel it.” Hana cocks a brow, looking down as she pulls the trigger. She takes out three of Vishkar’s new bodyguard omnics without looking-- _easy mode_ \--and Sombra groans. She’s gotten even harder from it, Hana notes with satisfaction. She’s good at her shit and she _knows_ it. “What next?”

“Hh--health port. They’re gonna go for it.” Sombra reaches for the keyboard again, her breathing tight and fast; Hana’s is the same, if she’s being honest. “Fly us there. I’ll handle the rest.”

Hana shoots forward, crashing through a group of omnics as she lands the MEKA into what she assumes is the charging port. Sombra’s quick fingers fly over the keys, and tendrils of purple light shoot from the barrels of the MEKA’s arm cannons. Sombra’s brand flashes over the surface of the station, before its calming Vishkar blue turns purple. 

Hana knows it’s running one hell of a virus, now, one Sombra concocted just for this. Soon it’ll find its way back into Vishkar’s branch database--then further to the main hub. It all depends on how good the firewalls are. Satya says they’re stronger than hell, but Satya is also biased as fuck. 

“I think,” Hana rasps when the head of Sombra’s cock brushes her clit, “I think, we should blow this thing up. Get into the heart of this sect, and test one last thing.” 

“Yes,” Sombra breathes, “ _fuck_ yes. You’re so fuckin’ smart, _m’ija_. God, I love the way that brain of yours thinks.”

“I’m pretty hot shit,” Hana agrees. Sombra laughs, and then presses on the small of her back. Hana raises her hips just enough for Sombra to shift, give her a warning tap, and sinks the head of her cock in. Hana moans throaty and full and steadily rocks her hips back until she’s perched in Sombra’s lap again. 

“Love the way you feel around me,” Sombra mutters into her ear. Then she growls something in Spanish--could be endearments, dirty talk, or the goddamn grocery list for all Hana knows--and taps on her keyboard. She pulls up blueprints of the Vishkar base they’re raiding, and Hana spies the target seconds before Sombra plots out a trail. “Right there. Servers control the omnics...we get in, shut it down, and Vishkar will have a hell of mess on their hands.” 

Sombra sounds so giddy that Hana giggles too. She sobers up. “R-run a check on the personnel. Don’t want innocent people getting caught up in this.”

Sombra hums low against her skin, lust momentarily tempered as they both watch the third screen load up, sensors seeking out human body temperatures. They catch a couple of them fleeing the building, hoping their security tech can combat whoever’s coming at them. Good. Less casualties, the better. 

“Let’s do this,” Hana says, aiming the mech’s thrusters for a high boost. “ _Leeroooooy--_ “

Sombra stops her meme with a hard thrust and the sound of overexaggerated dry heaving. Hana laughs around a moan, slick dripping from between her thighs. The position and the fact that they _are_ dealing with a pretty high priority mission means they can’t do anything really nice, but Hana likes it when they just grind too. She doesn’t want to think about being a bit of a size queen like Lena, but she’d be lying if she said the stretch wasn’t nice. 

Hana makes the MEKA burst through the tall window. Breathless, she reads the code out to Sombra, who types it into a voice simulator app that sounds out inside of the mech. Self destruct sequence, with the added bonus of an EMP blast, is initiated; Hana lets off the joysticks, seeing her work done, and braces herself on the chair. She raises her hips, lets them fall, taking all of Sombra in with a slick sound. 

There’s a countdown timer in the corner of the screen. Hana watches it, and feels the pleasure start to spike. It’s even better now, with Sombra panting in her ear, little whines and whimpers escaping her lips. 

It hits Hana, minutes before her orgasm does, that they’ve never even kissed. She twists halfway in Sombra’s lap, throwing an arm around her shoulders, chest heaving. Sombra’s eyes widen, brows rising just before Hana kisses her, sloppy and eyes closed and desperate. Sombra’s lips are slack against her own for a split second before Sombra starts to kiss her back, moaning into her parted mouth. 

“Fuck, yes,” Sombra whispers urgently, hips clapping against her ass, “Fuck yes, yes, _yes, Hana._ ” 

She jerks as the countdown ticks to its final few seconds. They stop kissing to watch the explosion on screen, the point of view switched to a drone at the last minute by Sombra. The mech destroys the servers and the EMP wave spreads through the entire facility, a dome of purple that shuts down every electronic--including the drone. 

The screens go dark, but Hana sees only white stars as arches her back, smiling, coming. It’s stronger than ever before, a hot wave washing over her and nearly dragging her under as she shouts, wordless. Sombra clamps two hands against her hips and grinds hard against her, forehead pressed to the back of Hana’s sweat soaked shirt. 

When the aftershocks finish, and Sombra slides out of her--leaving her wet and messy between her legs--they settle into the leather chair with twin sighs of satisfaction. Sombra pets her hair, kisses at her neck and nibbles at her skin. Then she reaches up, and taps on the screen to the right. The recording stops, saves itself into a little cube of light, and Sombra draws it out of the air. Her purple lipstick is smudged from Hana’s kiss and her smirk is half satisfied from sex, half from a job well done. 

“You like stickin’ it to the man,” Hana says, drowsily. 

“Mm. Love stickin’ it to _you_ more,” Sombra purrs. The porn video slides into an encrypted folder, along with four others. Sombra is going to send it to Hana a week later, after she’s made copies. Not to send along to ruin Hana’s career--their partnership, so to speak, suits them both too much--but for her own benefit. Sombra makes no secret about her voyeurism. 

“It’ll be two weeks before I get another mech,” Hana mumbles, and finds her eyes sliding shut. She has cum dripping down her thighs and she needs a shower, but Sombra smells like perfume and the musk of sex and she’s comfy, goddammit. “Sorry.”

“Ah, _mi coneja_ , I’ll wait as long as I have to.” Sombra kisses her cheek, hesitates, and kisses her on the lips. Pleasantly surprised, Hana returns it. “You’re sleepy.”

“Yeah,” Hana says. “This might sound weird, but we should nerf your dick.” 

Sombra sputters out a belly laugh. “What the fuck! That _is_ weird, I love it.” She pets her hair again, voice softening. “Nap, _m’ija._ I’ll get you cleaned up.”

She shouldn’t fall asleep in the lap of a woman whose loyalties lie up the ass of nowhere, but Hana lets her eyes slide shut and she snuggles in. She thinks she hears something like tay-yammo, and thinks it sounds familiar, but then she’s fallen asleep before she can think of something else. She doesn't speak Spanish anyway.


End file.
